The Thinning of the Veil
by PsychedelicCowgirl
Summary: There are those that say when the veil separating the living from the dead is at its thinnest, the spirits of the departed may cross over into the land of the living. Some say the souls of the living might even cross into to the spirit world. But there's no truth in that. Is there?
1. Chapter 1

October 31st

It was just past sunset when Chris Larabee left the saloon and made his way to the clinic above the livery. It was oddly quiet out tonight. No music or voices from the saloon drifted into night outside and apart from the dark-clad gunman, the boardwalk was deserted. The saloon being closed accounted for the lack of noise, and the empty streets could be accredited to most of the respectable townsfolk already being home for the day, but it was more than that. The silence that shrouded Chris was more akin to midnight than just after dark. Even the street fires seemed to be burning a little dimmer than was usual.

The silence wasn't completely unexpected, a rather somber atmosphere had hung over the town ever since the failed bank robbery two days ago. It wasn't unheard of for things to become subdued when one of the town's seven peacekeepers was in trouble, but this was almost eerie. It was as if there was something in the air this evening that tainted everything, something almost tangible something . . . otherworldly.

Chris scoffed as soon as the thought popped into his head. Where had that idea come from? He'd never been what anyone would call religious or superstitious, and he certainly wasn't a man who entertained notions of ghosts and whatnot. His unease was due to Ezra's condition; that was all. Having one of his men down always rattled him, especially when the final outcome of an injury was unknown. And Ezra had always excelled in causing him grief. Logical as that reasoning was, Chris still couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.

He was almost to the livery when the feeling that someone was following him came over Chris. It wasn't a feeling that made him think he was in any danger or that whoever it was didn't want to be seen, just the impression someone was coming up behind him. He looked over his shoulder half-expecting to see that one of the others had decided to come with him, but all he saw was the empty street. Surprised, Chris stopped and turned around, his hand automatically coming to rest on the butt of his gun as he carefully scanned the area around him. There was nothing; just him and the street fires. Chris took his hand off his sidearm and rolled his eyes. Just when had he gotten so jumpy? Pushing his suspicions aside, Chris climbed the stairs that would take him to Nathan's clinic and whatever news was waiting for him.

Once upstairs, Chris lightly tapped on the door to announce his presence, before stepping inside. His gaze immediately went to the bed and he saw things hadn't changed much since he'd been here earlier in the day. Nathan was still hunched over the bed, and the pale figure occupying it was still unmoving.

Chris crossed over to the bed, the jingle of his spurs sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet room. "Any change?" he asked.

Nathan looked up wearily and shook his head. "Not really. He's just quiet now."

After two days of raging fever, incoherent muttering, and delirium silence should have been a blessing, but Chris couldn't see it that way. Much like the silence that had settled over the town, Ezra's stillness was unnatural and unsettling. This whole thing was leaving Chris's stomach knotted up and he knew none of the others were doing any better.

_You just had to play the hero, didn't you, Standish?_ he thought as he watched the almost imperceptible rise and fall of the southern man's chest.

"How'd you get over here alone?" Nathan asked as he stood and stretched the muscles in his back. "I expected everyone else to be right on your heels."

"Inez took care of that for me," Chris replied with a half-smile.

Right after Nathan finished Ezra's surgery, all seven of them were piled up in the room, waiting for a verdict from Nathan. The next morning Nathan kicked them out saying it was ridiculous for all of them to stay packed in the small room together. This was just a wait-and-see game and Ezra's condition wasn't going to improve or deteriorate based on whether they were all there or not. Chris agreed and also pointed out that they still had a job to do and a responsibility to the town. With Ezra down and Nathan needed to look after him, the remaining five men needed to stay focused on their job. No one was happy about it, including Chris, but that's the way it was. Over the past thirty-six hours or so they had been going back and forth from the clinic at all hours hoping for some positive news.

"She found us on our way over here and said she was making supper," Chris continued. "She didn't make it sound like eating it was going to be optional."

"I'll have to thank her later."

"She's been particularly on edge today. I don't think anyone thought they had a snowball's chance in hell of winning an argument with her tonight."

The usually witty and smiling barmaid had been sullen and snappy ever since she'd found out Ezra was yet again one of Nathan's patients, but like everything else in town today, she was more out of sorts than usual. The saloon hadn't even been opened today. When she'd informed them she was cooking, no one was inclined to argue with her. Chris had only gotten away with returning now because he'd promised to take Nathan dinner and quickly return with an update about their seventh member. Unfortunately, it didn't look like he was going to have much to report.

"How'd you get away from her?" Nathan asked with a smirk.

Chris held up the cloth-covered plate he was holding. "I offered to bring yours over."

Nathan looked at the plate and for a moment Chris thought he was going to refuse. He was just getting ready to use one of Nathan's lectures about the importance of eating even if you didn't feel like it against him when the younger man accepted the food.

Nathan carried his supper over to a more comfortable chair and Chris took up residence in the recently vacated straight-backed chair at Ezra's side. While Nathan ate, Chris watched the man lying in the bed, willing him to open his eyes. How many times could they do this? How many times could Ezra cheat death before his luck ran out? Granted what he'd done saved them a lot of aggravation. The bank money was still where it belonged, they hadn't had to ride out after the man and, thanks to the robber now being a resident of boot hill, the judge didn't have to make a trip into town for a trial. It had all worked out fine . . . except Ezra had to take a bullet to the chest to pull all that off. To Chris' way of thinking, it wasn't a fair trade.

Ezra slipped from consciousness shortly after being shot and hadn't shown any signs of waking since. While his unconscious state had been a blessing during Nathan's operation, it quickly became concerning. What was particularly concerning was the fact Nathan wasn't sure why he hadn't awoken. Nathan was able to operate with minimal trouble and as far as he could tell, no major damage was done. It was a serious wound just by its nature, but a relatively simple one. By all accounts, Ezra should be improving. It didn't appear that he was.

The optimistic prognosis Nathan had originally given them changed once Ezra's fever developed, and that was only hours after he'd been shot. There was no sign of infection, so the fever was almost as mysterious as Ezra's unconsciousness was. The fever dropped minutely earlier, but the only good to come out of that was the fact Ezra was no longer tossing, turning, and moaning.

Chris sighed and rubbed his eyes. It had only been two-and-a-half days but he was afraid they were all reaching their breaking point. They'd had illness and injury last much longer than this many times, but there was always a reason. The element of mystery in this was wearing them down, and as much as Chris hated to think it, something needed to give, one way or the other.

Chris leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I need you to shoot straight with me, Nathan. What are we lookin' at?" He looked over in Nathan's direction and found the other man picking at the remainder of his food seeming to give serious thought to what answer to give.

Nathan finally set his plate down and came back over to the bed. He crossed his arms and gazed at the gambler a minute before shaking his head. "I don't know Chris. The fever's dropped a little."

"But not enough?"

"Not enough to count for much," Nathan admitted.

"He's settled a lot from a few hours ago."

"Yeah, he has, but I'm thinkin' he's just plain worn himself out."

Chris stared at the floor. "So what does that mean?"

"I'm not sure, but I know I don't know what else I can do for him."

"So we wait?"

Nathan shrugged. "I know it's not what anyone wants to hear and it ain't what I want to say, but I just don't know what else to do. I thought about opening him back up to see if I missed something, but I'm not sure that that wouldn't hurt more than help him now."

Chris turned his gaze back to Nathan. "Do you really think you missed something?" Chris found that difficult to believe. Anything was possible, but Nathan was always so careful. The man might not be a real doctor, but Chris would have a hard time trusting a doctor over Nathan.

There was a long pause before Nathan answered. "Not really. The most obvious cause of fever would be an infection . . . ."

"Does he have an infection?"

Nathan shook his head. "Not that I can tell but . . . I don't know what's happening."

Something about that last phrase didn't sit well with Chris. It wasn't so much the words as the way Nathan said them and the defeated look he now wore.

"I told you to shoot straight with me, Nathan. What aren't you sayin'?"

At first, Nathan looked as though he was going to deny the accusation, but he only sighed. "I don't know how to help him, Chris; I'm just trying to keep him comfortable now."

"Meaning?" Chris demanded not liking the way that sounded.

Nathan looked like he didn't know what to say but he finally shrugged. "Meanin' if you have any idea where Maude is, it might not be a bad idea to let her know what's going on."

The room got cooler all of a sudden, and Chris couldn't tell if the temperature physically dropped or if it was the words that seemed to chill him. Staring back down at the worn floorboards, Chris tried to come to terms with what Nathan just told him. True, he'd come here almost expecting to hear something like this, but that didn't mean he was ready to actually face what it meant. He wasn't looking forward to going back to the saloon and telling the others, including Inez, there was a very real chance Ezra was dying.

Sensing Nathan at his shoulder, Chris stood to allow the healer to resume his vigil. "I guess I should . . . ." He stopped when he realized Nathan wasn't beside him at all but was on the other side of the room; too far away to have been standing just behind him a second ago. Chris looked around that feeling of not being alone coming over him again.

"What'd you say?" Nathan asked coming back to the bed.

"Nothin'," Chris muttered. "Just I guess I should pass the word along."

"I'm not sayin' it's gonna happen, Chris, I'm just sayin' we need to be ready for it."

Chris nodded. "I understand. Just do what you can."

It was Nathan's turn to nod and Chris stepped back into the night. The air still felt sort of heavy, but he noticed the feeling of being followed was gone. He didn't give it much thought however, he had other things on his mind. Like telling the others their seventh might be dying. He wasn't looking forward to that. And Maude? He had no idea where the woman was. Hoping Nathan was being overly cautious, Chris started down the stairs. He was barely back on the ground before he heard Nathan holler his name.

A second later the healer leaned over the railings. "I need water, Chris. His fever's spiking and we gotta get it down. Now."

Chris didn't waste time asking questions. Fearing the worst was coming, he hurried to get the requested water. Something needed to give but this wasn't what he had in mind. By the time he made it back up to the clinic, it was obvious Nathan had every right to be concerned. Ezra who had been so still just minutes before was once again thrashing around on the bed, a stream of mumbled words in at least two different languages coming from his lips.

Chris passed the water over and waited for Nathan to tell him what he needed to do next. Why'd _you break cover, Ez?_ he silently asked the man currently fighting for his life. _Why'd you have to get noble on me? _


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Vin absentmindedly picked at the food in front of him. Inez's cooking was something not to be missed and usually he had no trouble eating seconds if not thirds. Tonight the meal had no taste and every bite was forced down. Something wasn't right; he just knew it. It was nothing he could put his finger on, but he couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that had come over him today. It started this morning and had steadily gotten worse as the day wore on. Now he couldn't help but think something was about to happen, and with Ezra laid up like he was, that something would probably be bad.

"Senor Chris has not returned?"

Vin looked up from his plate as a subdued Inez approached their table carrying four beers. The woman hadn't been her normal cheerful self the last couple of days, but her mood was especially dark this evening.

"No, ma'am," Buck replied. "But we'll be sure to tell you when he does." There was no flirting going on tonight, or any night since Ezra had been shot. While it was a welcome respite for those who knew Buck didn't stand a chance with the woman, Vin wished the change had come about under different circumstances.

"Thank you, Buck," she said softly as she set the glasses on the table and looked towards the window. She stared out into the darkness for a minute before murmuring something in Spanish, crossing herself, and hurrying back to the bar. Vin was sure he saw her wiping her eyes as she left them.

"Anybody catch that?" Buck asked.

"A prayer," Josiah said.

"For Ezra?"

"I'd say so. It's October 31st; maybe she figures now isn't the best time for him to be laid up like he is."

"Why?" JD asked. "Not that any day is a good day for Ezra to be laid up like he is, but what's special about today?"

"It's a time for the dead," Josiah replied.

"Huh?"

"Dia de Los Muertos," Vin said softly realizing what Josiah was talking about. The shift in Inez's mood made a lot of sense now. She was worried about Ezra, just like all of them, but everything about her behavior today from not opening the saloon to the way she'd all but told them they were going to eat whether they liked it or not spoke of unusual anxiousness. He wouldn't have connected it to the date if Josiah hadn't mentioned it, but Vin had spent enough time in Mexico to understand it had meaning.

"What's dia de whatever you said?" JD asked.

"The day of the dead," Vin translated.

"You know about it, Vin?" Josiah asked.

Vin nodded. He was surprised Josiah knew about it, although he probably shouldn't be. There didn't seem to be much concerning spiritual matters the man didn't know.

"What's the day of the dead?" JD asked.

"Dia de Los Muertos is the time when a person's ancestors can cross back over from the land of the dead," Vin explained.

JD was looking between Josiah and Vin with wide eyes. "So there's like ghosts running around."

"Not ghosts in the way you're thinking," Josiah said. "It's a time of remembering and celebration for them."

"Sounds nice," Buck broke in. "But what does that have to do with Ezra?"

"This is a time for the dead." Vin looked over to the bar where Inez stood. She was just looking for something to keep her busy if the already sparkling bar she was wiping down was any indication. "And Ezra ain't exactly with us right now."

"That's true but I think it may be more than that," Josiah added. "October 31st is also known as all hallows eve. The beginning of Allhallowtide. A time for remembering the saints, the faithful departed, and loved ones who have passed on."

All the men now looked to the former preacher. What he was saying now was something even Vin wasn't familiar with. "How's that different from what Vin just said?" JD asked.

"They're very similar in some ways, but a lot of the aspects of the Halloween season come from the ancient Celtic people and tend to be a bit darker. They believe that during this time the veil separating the living from the dead is at its thinnest. It's a time for the living to avoid the in-between places."

Buck raised an eyebrow. "In-between places?"

"The gateways to the other side; where the veil separates our world from . . . the otherworld. When the veil thins it's easy for the residents of that world to cross over into this one. It's also easy for the living to cross over into their world."

Buck and JD looked at Josiah in disbelief while Vin kept his eyes fixed on the table. "I guess this would be the perfect time for Ez to slip over then," the tracker finally said. Josiah hadn't said it in so many words, but Vin knew that's what he was implying. "Leastways maybe that's what Inez is thinkin'." The truth was, it sounded like a good reason for his gut to be all knotted up too, but he kept that part to himself.

"But . . . ." JD looked around the table. "You guys don't really believe that. Do you?"

"Don't matter if we believe it or not, kid," Buck said. "Plenty of people do. Including Inez it seems."

"And belief is a powerful thing," Josiah added.

JD turned his attention to Vin. "Is that part about the living crossing over part of the dia . . . day of the dead?"

Vin shrugged. "Don't know, but I'd say she's heard about it from somewhere."

"Well, why have I never heard of it?"

Josiah smiled. "Don't feel bad about it, JD, a lot of people haven't. Not many Americans pay any attention to the day. A lot of the southern states do because of the strong Celtic influence in the area."

"So you think Ezra knows all this?" Buck asked as he ran his finger along the rim of his glass.

"Probably."

Vin's uneasiness intensified when he heard Josiah's simple reply. He didn't know why Ezra knowing this should change anything but for some reason it did.

Vin wasn't sure what he believed. He'd gone to church with his ma before she died and he'd learned a little about the Indian's beliefs when he'd lived with them, but he didn't practice anything. He guessed he believed in God, but he wasn't at all sure about spirits crossing over and veils thinning. He couldn't deny that something sure felt wrong though. Ridiculous as it sounded, he just didn't think Ezra was safe tonight. "Chris sure has been gone a while," he commented feeling a sudden urgency to know what was going on with their seventh.

"Yeah, he has. Maybe it's time to find out why." Buck was halfway out of his chair when Josiah grabbed his arm.

"We all run out of here right now and Inez will think something's happened."

"Are we sure something ain't happened?"

Josiah shook his head. "No. But let's give him a few more minutes.

"What if something has happened?" JD asked.

"Then we'll just be in the way."

"He's right, Bucklin," Vin said softly. Much as he hated to admit it, Josiah had a point. They'd all been fussed at enough to know Nathan didn't appreciate all of them being there at once. Said it wasn't conducive to recovery or something. Nathan sure wouldn't like it if Ezra needed his attention right now and they all came barging in. "Let's give him a little longer.

Buck didn't look happy about it but sank back down into his chair. "And if he ain't back?"

Josiah looked to the door. "Then we go find out what's goin' on."

XXXXXXX

Ezra wasn't sure what was going on. One moment he'd been in pain, terrible pain that originated in his chest and slowly wormed its way all throughout his body. Then came the heat; all-consuming heat he was sure would burn him alive. It was hard to draw a decent breath and his mind was overrun with dozens of images he was having difficulty sorting through. People and places, past and present, kept taking hold of his thoughts as life events, both recent and from long ago, ran through his mind at dizzying speeds. And the voices, so many voices calling out to him. Some he knew well; his mother, his fellow peacekeepers, Mrs. Travis, Inez. Some he hadn't heard in years; his uncle Jonathan, Azalea, Addie, that delightful young lady in Silver City. Just as Ezra was sure he would lose his mind over the assault on his senses, the torment began to fade.

First, the fire that seemed to be burning him from the inside out was quenched. Then the horrible ache that reached down into his very bones began to abate. As the last of the pain lifted, the voices started to fade. One by one they fell silent until only one remained. Oddly it was a voice he couldn't immediately identify. He listened to it carefully hoping for a spark of recognition but before he could make sense of the voice calling out to him Ezra came back to himself and realized he was in Nathan's clinic.

The realization itself wasn't unusual, he'd often found himself inside these walls, but he had no memory of arriving. Had he suffered some sort of head injury? He looked around the room, his stomach dropping when he saw Nathan seated by the bed tending to someone. Something must have happened then. But why were he and Nathan the only ones here? Where were the others? Had some calamity befallen them? Were he and Nathan along with the figure in the bed the only ones left? Fearing the worst he approached the bed.

He was nearly across the room when Chris burst into the room. "Is it doin' any good?" Chris asked as he deposited a bucket of water at Nathan's feet.

"I don't know yet," Nathan replied his voice tight. "He's settled again."

Nathan was bathing whoever was in the bed with cool water Ezra realized; doubtless there was a fever involved. He wanted to ask what was going on but refrained; whoever was receiving Nathan's ministrations obviously had a more pressing issue than a few lost memories. At least Chris was accounted for now. Of course that still left four other men that could be in that bed; men Ezra had no desire to see fight for their lives. But fighting for one's life was better than being dead.

"Could you get me another bucket, Chris?" Nathan asked.

Chris nodded tightly and turned to leave again.

"Chris . . . ." Ezra stopped when Chris brushed past him. Ezra watched the man's retreating figure in confusion. Was he somehow responsible for whatever had happened? That might account for Chris not wishing to speak with him but if that were so Ezra expected there would be some sort of glare or something as Chris went by. Chris had merely passed him as if he wasn't even there.

Needing some idea of what was going on, Ezra once again advanced on the bed, dreading what he would find. Stopping just behind Nathan Ezra peered over the man's shoulder and felt his heart stutter. The man on the bed was him. Stunned, Ezra staggered back a few steps and tried to collect his thoughts. What was going on? How was it possible he was both on the bed and standing here?

Slowly Ezra began to remember what happened. There was a robbery and he'd broken cover in order to get a clean shot at the man. It was a rather stupid, but effective, move on his part and it resulted in him getting shot. Ezra's hand went up to his chest as he remembered the burn of the bullet tearing through him. Now here he was watching from a distance as Nathan tended to him. Was he dying?

Slowly Ezra backed across the room needing to put some distance between himself and the self Nathan was trying to cool off. More baffled than ever Ezra sat on the edge of the exam table unable to take his eyes off Nathan. It was clear neither Nathan nor Chris could see him, and he must not be dead yet or Nathan wouldn't still be trying to help him. But what was going on?

"Ezra."

The unexpected voice startled Ezra. Turning his head, he saw a man standing just inside the clinic door.

"Can I help you, sir?" Ezra asked with some uncertainly wondering if the man could see him.

The man chuckled. "Not at the moment, no."

Something in the man's voice, his smile, tugged at memories from long ago and Ezra slowly stood. All thoughts of Nathan and his other self were forgotten as Ezra moved around the table. Something wasn't right here. There was no way . . . Ezra shut his eyes and took a deep breath. A fever. It was obvious from watching Nathan's actions he had a fever. This had to be some kind of fever driven delusion, it was the only explanation. When he opened his eyes again, the man was still in front of him.

"You're not seeing things, Ez." The words were spoken softly as if he were comforting a child. Ezra supposed, in a way, that's exactly what he was doing.

Ezra gaped at the man across from him. He looked exactly as Ezra remembered him from some twenty-odd years ago, right down to the suit he wore. It was slightly outdated, but the style had been the height of fashion last time Ezra had seen him. They were close to the same height now and their builds identical. If they were seen together they might easily be mistaken for one another except the other man's coloring was just a shade or two darker than Ezra's; his hair devoid of the reddish tint that Ezra's own sometimes had. But their eyes were the exact same shade of bright emerald; Maude always declared they were the greenest eyes she'd ever seen. They were just about the same age now too. No, that wasn't right. Ezra knew exactly how old the man across from him was; a mere twenty-nine. Too young. Far, far too young.

Ezra took a breath and leaned against the table. "Daddy?"

**A/N: Halloween, as it is now known, wasn't widely celebrated in the U.S. until the end of the 19th century. Some areas of the country had some kind of celebration while others rejected or ignored it. It has gone through many changes over the years and I've done my best to depict it as accurately as possible. Also, while Allhallowstide and The Day of the Dead do coincide, they are two different celebrations. Since it is not part of my culture, I've gathered most of my information regarding Dia de Muertos through research. I've also tried to be as accurate as possible when making any mention of it. **


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Patrick Standish broke into a grin but didn't say a word. Ezra's hand found its way back to his chest and he almost wished the pain would return. At the moment, he wasn't feeling anything and nothing made sense. Anything that would help ground him right now would be appreciated, even if it was pain. "Am . . . am I . . . dead?"

His father's smile faded and he looked over at the bed. "No," he said softly. "No, your life isn't over yet."

Yet? That didn't sound very promising. Ezra followed his father's gaze to the bed where it appeared Nathan was doing everything in his power to keep him alive. "Then may I presume that I am dying?" If he were, maybe there was a way he could tell Nathan it would be alright if he stopped trying to save him.

"I don't know, Ezra. That's not my decision to make."

Ezra turned back to his father. "Then you aren't here to . . . collect me?"

Patrick chuckled. "No. That's not my duty."

"I don't understand."

Patrick sighed and took a few steps closer. "This is the in-between place, between life and death. The spiritual realm, if you will."

"Are you some kind of angel?"

Patrick shook his head. "Angels aren't human, Ez. They never have been."

"Then some kind of . . . ." Ezra trailed off not wanting to use the word ghost; the very idea was preposterous.

Patrick grinned again as if he knew exactly what his son had been thinking. "Not that either. It doesn't work that way. The soul I mean. Once it's time, it's time; there is no unfinished business to attend to."

"And yet here you are," Ezra said wondering why he was conversing so easily with his dear departed father.

"Yes, here I am."

"At the risk of sounding rude, may I ask why?"

"All Hallows Eve. The veil has thinned."

"All Hallows Eve," Ezra repeated unsure if he should panic or try to wake up from this delusion. He hadn't given much thought to the occasion in ages, since before the war. It had been years since anyone even mentioned the words, although he'd been in a few places during his youth where the night was considered one of some importance.

Patrick's dazzling smile again appeared. "It's the end of the harvest; the beginning of the dark season. The night where fairies, goblins, and ghosts can slip through; a time for the dear and at times not so dear departed to cross over."

Ezra well remembered the stories growing up, although he'd never experienced or met anyone who claimed to have had an encounter like this. "Have you joined me in my world or have I entered the . . . other side?"

"Neither; you're in-between."

"In-between," Ezra mumbled remembering his father's words from earlier. "Of course." He tried to sound nonchalant, but as he looked back to his unnervingly still form on the bed, he was barely able to repress a shudder. His self-control wasn't as good as he thought, however as he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He was able to stifle his cry of surprise but that didn't stop him from jumping and spinning around.

"Sorry," Patrick said sheepishly. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"It's-it's fine. I was merely taken aback by uh . . . . " His father was solid, and he didn't just appear that way if his touch meant anything. He truly was solid. Ezra wasn't sure what he thought a spirit should look like, but it wasn't the solid-looking man standing in front of him. It seemed a spirit should have more of a specter appearance. Ezra didn't know if the fact he was wrong about that was comforting or not.

Again his father seemed to know what he was thinking. "Would you prefer some translucent figure?"

"No," Ezra said quickly; too quickly to his way of thinking. "No, I just . . . ." He grimaced hating how flustered and unsure he sounded.

Patrick sighed and hopped on to the exam table and indicated for Ezra to join him. Ezra hesitated briefly before he walked over and sat beside his father, close enough so their knees almost touched. Patrick looked down at the slight distance between them and held out his hand. No words were spoken and none were needed, Ezra knew what his father was doing. Patrick was giving him the chance to satisfy his curiosity and also allowing him to initiate physical contact. Ezra had been five the last time he'd spoken to his father. It was more than twenty years ago and Ezra was amazed they could still communicate without using any words at all.

The slightest moment of hesitation passed before Ezra reached out and allowed his fingers to brush his father's hand. Although they had touched earlier, Ezra was still surprised by the solidness of the man's hand. Even more surprising was the warmth. His hesitation faded and Ezra relaxed resting his hand against his father's. Patrick briefly wrapped his fingers around Ezra's hand and squeezed.

"Not quite the specter you imagined," he said as he released his son's hand.

"More human than I expected," Ezra admitted.

"I am human; death doesn't change that. Besides, there wouldn't much point in the soul lasting for eternity if you have to exist as some kind of wraith."

"A valid point. What it's like?"

Patrick smiled. "It's beautiful. Imagine the most beautiful place on earth, and think about it being perfect, absolutely flawless. No pain, no hate, no goodbyes. Just . . . perfect."

Perfect. Ezra had trouble wrapping his mind around the idea. He'd become too cynical over the years. There'd been too many places lived, too many cons, too many brushes with the law, too much pain, and too many goodbyes. "Sounds nice," he commented dryly.

"It's a bit more than that. No fairies or goblins though, I'm afraid."

Ezra snorted a laugh. "I'll try to contain my disappointment." The brief moment of amusement passed as Ezra looked over at the bed once again. "How long will I be here?"

"In-between? That I cannot answer; one would assume it would be until a decision is made."

"About whether I live or die?"

"Yes."

"And you know nothing about that?"

His father smiled sadly. "Life and death belong to someone much greater than me."

Ezra nodded sure that he was now experiencing the most bizarre thing he ever had in his life. He'd call all this surreal except madness seemed more appropriate. Here he was sitting next to a man that had been dead over twenty years while he watched what could only be described as his death unfold before him. His father might deny any knowledge of it, but Ezra couldn't see how it could be anything else. He'd had close calls before and never met any deceased family members. Halloween or not, this all seemed too final for him to simply return to the land of the living as though nothing had happened. His father was likely sparing himself the unpleasantness of having to tell his son he was dying.

Feeling someone's eyes on him, Ezra turned and found his father regarding him silently. "What?"

Patrick shrugged. "Just looking. It's been a long time since I got to just look at you."

Ezra dropped his gaze unsure of how to respond to that. "Does what you see meet your approval?" he finally asked unable to keep an edge from creeping into his voice.

"It more than meets my approval, Ez," Patrick responded quietly. He reached up and ran his fingers through Ezra's hair before resting his hand on his son's neck and squeezing gently. "I always knew you'd grow into a man anyone would be proud to claim."

Ezra continued to stare at the floor; he didn't dare look up after hearing that. The chances of being unable to control his emotions were too high. While those were words he always hoped he'd hear his father say, he knew they were words he didn't deserve. Did his father have any idea of what had gone on during the last twenty years? Things were about to veer off into territory Ezra had no desire to explore and he knew it was time to put the focus on something else. Thankfully, that was something he had a great deal of practice with. Schooling his features into an impassive expression he inclined his head towards Nathan and Chris. "Do they know we're here?"

Patrick cocked his head and studied the two men. "I'd like to know that myself. Can they see us? No, but . . . ." he pointed to Chris. "I wonder about that one." He looked back to Ezra and grinned. "He's looked in my direction several times tonight. I think he senses something out of the ordinary is going on."

"I'm not surprised. Mister Larabee is quite observant."

"Mister Larabee? Are you always so formal?"

Ezra smiled. "It's habit, mostly. There are times it's used strictly to annoy."

"And the other gentleman?"

"Mister Jackson. Nathan. A healer of remarkable talent. Were circumstances different, I have no doubt he would be a doctor now. As it is, he is still able to service almost any need that arises."

"And you work with them?"

"Yes, as a peacekeeper, much to mother's dismay."

"That's not surprising, is it? Peacekeeping isn't what most would call a safe profession."

Ezra smirked amused at the idea it was his safety that caused Maude to object to his remaining here. He looked to the man beside and was surprised to find there wasn't any trace of humor on his father's face. The realization that Patrick actually believed that sent a jolt through Ezra; he didn't know if he ought to find that funny or sad. Then with a sinking feeling he realized his father, most likely, still thought of Maude as the woman he married, the woman Ezra had only vague memories of; the woman she'd been before she lost her husband. Perhaps his safety would have been foremost in that woman's mind, but Ezra couldn't be sure that was the case now. He wasn't going to be the one to reveal that to Patrick, however.

"A logical assumption," he said simply.

"Logical maybe, but one you don't believe."

Ezra's gaze narrowed; once again he was taken aback by what Patrick seemed to know about his thoughts. "I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to," Patrick said with a laugh. "Years have passed, Boyo, but I'm still your father."

Ezra cleared his throat. "Yes, well . . . ."

"How is she, by the way?"

"She's . . . fine." There wasn't any over way to say it. Maude was fine, she was always fine. There was no easy way to explain Maude, not even to her husband.

Something flickered in Patrick's eyes, something Ezra was tempted to call pain. He couldn't be sure though as whatever it was disappeared almost as it had come. "Why don't you tell me about you?" Patrick asked.

"What?" That topic wasn't any safer than Maude. As a matter of fact, it was probably more dangerous.

"It's been more than twenty years. There's a lot I don't know."

Ezra thought of all the things that had gone on since he was five. Too much had gone on. The countless moves, Maude leaving time and time again, the cons, the war, the brushes with the law, the arrests, the times he'd just turned tail and ran. Not that his whole life had been bad, there had been plenty of good times, but really, there wasn't much to be proud of. It was probably better for his father to remain ignorant. "There's nothing to tell really."

Patrick raised an eyebrow. "More than twenty years have gone by and there's nothing to tell? I left you as a five-year-old in Alabama. You're now a grown man in the territories and you don't have anything to say about that?"

He had just five short years with the man beside him and most of Ezra's memories weren't all that sharp but he was suddenly, and quite vividly, remembering both his father's look and tone. Patrick knew he was being less than honest and was giving him the chance to amend what he'd said before calling him out on it. Fighting the urge to physically distance himself from that stare Ezra looked over to where Chris and Nathan stood. "After you pass on, do you know what goes on out there?"

Patrick's gaze never wavered. "Some of it.

Ezra met Patrick's eyes again. "Then yes, sir, I have plenty to say, but none of it bears repeating."

Genuine hurt flashed in Patrick's eyes before he looked towards the bed where his son, at least his son's body lay. "I haven't been privy to it all, but I know enough. If that makes it any easier."

"And why would you care to hear such a sad tale?"

"Because you're my son."

Ezra scoffed hating that he couldn't think of a single reply to that, outside of the truth that is, and he wasn't willing to say that. He wasn't about to admit that he was terrified of losing his father's approval, a thought that left him wondering if he hadn't already lost his mind. Was it even possible to have a dead man's approval?

"I know a little about her too."

This time, Ezra was sure he saw a flicker of pain and smiled sadly. "What happened to perfection? No pain, isn't that what you said?"

"We're in-between, remember? That doesn't apply here."

"Naturally," Ezra mumbled sarcastically.

Patrick suddenly sighed. "I'm sorry, Ezra."

Hearing true remorse Ezra turned back to his father. "For what?"

"For not being able to stay. If I'd had any say in the matter, I would have been there."

Ezra nodded. "I know." He didn't want to go there. He didn't want to hear how things could have been different. He'd done that too often in his younger days and it brought nothing but heartache. Losing his father at a young age may not have been fair, but he'd learned long ago there was a lot in life that wasn't fair.

"I don't ever want you to doubt that. The only part of dying I feared was leaving you and your mama behind. I'd have given anything to change that."

A lot of memories may have been foggy, but Ezra well remembered the morning he'd been told his daddy was dead; he'd been scared too. The only reply he could offer now was a nod. Once again he felt his emotions were too close to the edge to fully control.

"I don't know how much time we have here, Ezra, but since we have at least a little, I would like to hear about you."

"I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Wherever you'd like to; it's your story."

Ezra stared into green eyes so much like his own and saw nothing but acceptance. He sighed. "It's not always a happy tale."

"Mine wasn't either," Patrick said softly. "But I'd be willing to settle for the happy parts if that's what I can get."

Ezra smiled. "That, sir, is something I could perhaps oblige you."

Before he could go further Chris abruptly walked away from the bed, his boot heels drumming loudly on the floor as he strode purposefully towards the door. Ezra slipped off the exam table and approached the bed nervously, his hand finding the spot on his chest where the wound should have been. "Has something happened?"

Patrick came up behind him and watched Ezra's still form a moment before he shook his head. "No. No, I don't think so. Do you feel any differently?"

Ezra shook his head mutely.

The two men stared at his body a moment longer before Patrick took Ezra's arm and gently pulled him back to the exam table. "There's no reason to stand there and watch it all night. What will be will be." He broke into a grin. "Besides, you owe me a couple of stories."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Chris stood back and watched Nathan work as he waited for some sort of cue from the healer. A dozen different questions were running through his head but he was smart enough not to voice any of them. Nathan was trying to save a life and he didn't need Chris yapping in his ear.

Long minutes passed and slowly Ezra calmed until he was once again quiet and still. Just like before, Chris couldn't find any peace in that. He saw Nathan check for a pulse and felt his heart jump a bit when Nathan sat back with a heavy sigh.

"Nathan?" Chris asked afraid the gambler was already gone.

"He's alive," Nathan quickly responded realizing what kind of impression he'd given Chris.

"What just happened?" Chris had watched Ezra go from deathly still, to having to be held down and back again in a matter of minutes.

"I don't know."

Chris's jaw tightened in irritation; he was sick of that answer. He knew it was all Nathan could give him, but that didn't mean he had to like it. He took a calming breath before speaking again. "What's goin' on now?"

Standing Nathan went over to Chris and they both regarded the man in the bed. "His pulse is there but it's weak. If I could figure out where that fever was coming from I could do something but . . . ."

"You've done everything you can," Chris broke in unwilling to let Nathan beat himself up over this. His words wouldn't keep Nathan from feeling guilty if the worst were to happen, but Chris figured Nathan needed to know no one would hold Ezra's death against him. If it came to that.

"Apparently that's not good enough," Nathan shot back bitterly.

"Sometimes it's not," Chris replied bluntly. Chris had lived more than long enough to learn that. Sometimes no matter what a man did, the best just wasn't good enough.

Nathan nodded irritably. "I know but, honestly, Chris, I just don't know how much longer he can fight this. Especially since I have no idea what he's actually fighting." He ran his hands through his hair with a heavy sigh. "You might as well go tell the others what's goin' on. Tell 'em if they want to come over it might be better for it to be sooner rather than later."

Chris winced when he heard that. Even though he'd suspected it was coming, it seemed so wrong for Nathan to say it. "Alright; they'll come lookin' for me soon anyway."

He was halfway to the door when he stopped and looked back at Ezra. The feeling of being watched came over him again and an irrational surge of anger quickly followed. Hating the whole situation, Chris drew in a sharp breath and stalked to the door closing it none too gently behind him. He was pissed, but just who or what he was pissed at he didn't know. Ezra for jumping out into the line of fire? That fool on Boot hill for trying to take the bank in the first place? Himself for being unable to protect someone he cared about . . . again? In a way, things had been easier when he hadn't had anyone to care about. That is if one could consider being a dead man walking easy. Chris didn't regret that he'd allowed himself to start living again, but there were definite hardships that came with letting people back in.

Chris paused at the door to the saloon and considered the best way to break the news to the others. It wouldn't come as too big a surprise to any of them, but he also knew that like him, everyone had been hoping for another dose of that luck that always seemed to make everything turn out all right. Chris would never admit that he thought they were invincible, he hadn't realized he did until just now, but truthfully he never really considered what would happen if one of them were killed. Since coming together, they'd experienced several things both physical and mental that could have broken their team apart. Several times it seemed a permanent fracture was inevitable, but somehow, things always worked out and healing had come. Chris now realized that no matter how bad things got, he expected them to work out. Two days ago he'd felt that way, but he no longer had that confidence.

He looked back in the direction of the clinic and wondered about that feeling he'd had earlier. Was it possible there was something out there that was making a difference tonight? It seemed silly to even think it, but was that eerie feeling connected to all this? Chris scoffed; this was all ridiculous. There was nothing different about tonight and no odd feeling of his was going to change what was going to happen. Period.

He opened the thick outer door and stepped inside the saloon. Four expectant men immediately turned his way and Chris could tell they weren't encouraged by what they saw.

"You don't look like a man who came to deliver news about a miraculous healing," Josiah said dryly.

"'Fraid not," Chris replied tossing his hat on the table. He pushed blond bangs off his forehead as he sat down and nodded his thanks to Buck when the man pushed a beer in his direction.

"So what's goin' on," JD asked impatiently.

"Nothing much has changed. He's quiet now but the fever hasn't really dropped any."

"Is that good or bad?" Vin asked. "About him bein' quiet."

Chris shrugged. "Nathan doesn't know. I mean it seems like him bein' still would be good for healin' and I guess it is, but Nathan thinks he might have settled down because he's just wearin' himself out."

"Wearin' himself out?" Buck asked. "As in . . . ."

Four sets of eyes drilled into Chris as he stared down into his beer. He'd always been direct, never afraid to speak his mind, but he found he was having a hard time putting this into words. He took a drink and sighed. "As in, I don't suppose anyone knows where Maude is, do they?"

For a moment no one spoke then JD asked the dreaded question. "So, is he dyin'?"

"Nathan said if something doesn't give, if that fever don't drop, he probably won't be able to fight much longer."

Buck cursed softly, Josiah muttered what Chris thought was a prayer, JD looked stricken, and Vin just stared at the table. Chris suspected that they'd all been expecting that last-minute stroke of luck to come along just as he had.

"If anyone wants to go over, Nathan said sooner would be better than later."

Almost as one four men pushed back from the table, Chris following a little more slowly. Buck started towards the door then stopped. "Inez," he said. "Someone needs . . . ."

"I'll tell her," Chris volunteered looking to the backroom the barmaid her disappeared into not long ago. "Y'all go on."

The others left and Chris went around the bar, following the sounds of clanging pots and the occasional muttered word. Reaching the small kitchen in the back of the saloon, Chris found Inez moving about the room in a frenzy, a mixture of Spanish and English falling from her lips. He couldn't make out if she was cleaning up or preparing something and he wondered if she knew herself.

"Inez," he called softly knocking on the door frame to alert the woman of his presence.

Inez whirled, a myriad of emotions crossing her face when she saw him. "Senor Chris." Her tone was flat and hollow. "How long?"

"Pardon?"

She turned away and looked around her. "You've come from Senor Nathan's, no?" She yanked up and pot and started wiping it out. "How much time is left?"

"Not sure," Chris replied his tone just as flat as hers. He hadn't expected her attitude to be so matter-of-fact, but it did make the task easier. "He's quieted down some now, but Nathan said if anyone wanted to see him it'd be good to go on over."

She nodded tightly before unexpectedly throwing the pot down and beginning a tirade, aimed at nothing in particular, in rapid-fire Spanish.

Chris stared a little taken aback by the abrupt change in the calm collected woman he'd been speaking to just a moment before but he didn't make a move. He'd been married long enough to know that telling a woman that worked up to calm down was usually not only futile but unwise. Instead, he stood in the doorway and waited for the rant to come to an end. A moment later it did, ending almost as quickly as it began.

"Forgive me, Senor," she said picking the pot up off the floor and taking it over to the sink.

"It's alright," he muttered seeing her eyes wet with tears. He almost wished she'd go back to yelling. He'd take a screaming woman over a crying one most any day.

She stood with her back to him but Chris noticed she reached up to wipe at her eyes before she took a steadying breath and faced him again. "You said we could see him?"

"Yeah. I'm fixin' to go back over if you wanna walk with me."

She nodded. "Si. I need a shawl."

She started his way and he moved out of the way so she could pass. As soon as she stepped out of the kitchen she turned around and looked at the doorway. "You should not stand there, senor."

"Where?"

She inclined her head toward the kitchen. "The doorway. It is not safe. Not tonight." She offered no other explanation and Chris didn't ask for one.

They went back out into the barroom and Inez hurried upstairs to get a warp while Chris waited. He was finishing off the beer Buck had given him earlier when Inez's words in the kitchen came back to him. She'd said it wasn't safe to stand there. He normally wouldn't have thought anything about it, but she'd specifically said tonight. Was there something going on tonight? As much as he'd told himself he was imagining things, it was too much of a coincidence that Inez would mention it too.

Inez came back down and Chris escorted her outside. Once again, he felt that odd sensation. As much as he wanted to ignore it, that was hard to do now that Inez had also made mention of it. He waited until they were on their way to the clinic to say anything but he had to know what, if anything, was going on.

"Inez, you said me standing there wasn't safe tonight. Anything special about tonight?"

Inez was staring straight ahead and Chris wondered if she'd even heard him. He was about to give up on getting an answer when she finally looked over at him. "Si."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Chris felt himself smile. Short and direct; it was the sort of answer he'd have given too. "What?" he prodded when it became clear she wasn't going to offer anything else.

"It's something Senor Standish told me."

"Ezra?" Now he was really curious. How could Ezra be tied into all this?

She nodded. "The doorway is in between, it is there you may cross over. You should not linger in between tonight."

"Cross over where?"

Inez looked at him as though he'd lost his mind. "Into the land of the dead."

"The land of the dead?"

"It is Dia de Los Muertos. It is not good for Senor Standish to be so close to death tonight."

The day of the dead. Chris had heard of the Mexican celebration but not being Mexican, it was something he never gave any thought to. Obviously, Inez felt differently. He wasn't one to ridicule anyone's beliefs, but it just wasn't possible that Ezra was in any more danger tonight than he would be at any other time.

"What does Ezra know about this?" he asked as he started walking again. He would let the woman believe what she wanted and wouldn't say anything but he was curious about Ezra. As far as he knew, Ezra was no expert on Mexican culture. What would he have told Inez that she didn't already know?

"Senor Standish called it All Hollow's Eve; something he celebrated as a boy. He told me of the in-between places and the danger of staying too long."

All Hollow's Eve; well, that was something Chris had never known about their gambler. Chris was sure there was a lot he didn't know about Ezra. The man loved to talk, but he sure could be closed-mouthed when it came to anything personal. Chris couldn't remember a time Ezra had ever so much as mentioned his childhood. Odd that he'd apparently talked, at length, to Inez about it.

Out of his peripheral, Chris saw Inez reach up to wipe her eyes again and was hit with a realization so startling it almost stopped him in his tracks. Judging from Inez's behavior tonight; her anger, the tears, the fear in her voice when she spoke of Ezra being so close to death, that was more than friendly concern. And if Ezra had been so open about his past, it was likely he didn't see Inez as just the barmaid. It was so obvious Chris wondered why he hadn't seen it before. The gambler and the barmaid cared for each other, and not as friends. If their behavior the last time he'd seen them together was any indication, neither one had said anything to the other, but unless Chris was going crazy, the feeling was mutual.

Now certainly wasn't time to bring the issue up, but Chris made a note to perhaps broach the subject with Ezra if he woke up. When, Chris quickly amended, when he woke up. Ezra dying wasn't an option. It hadn't been before and it certainly wasn't now. As he and Inez mounted the steps to the clinic Chris found himself offering up a silent prayer to any power that was willing to listen that Ezra would pull through. He didn't think any of them were ready to lose the big-mouthed fancy-dressing gambler just yet.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Ezra was surprised to find telling Patrick about himself wasn't as hard as he'd thought it would be. Patrick seemed to enjoy the sneaky side of Ezra's nature and particularly liked hearing about the year Ezra spent in New York at boarding school. The year he'd helped a couple of older boys run some underground card and dice games. There were some turbulent years Ezra wasn't too keen on sharing and he was wondering how to gloss over those times when his comrades entered the clinic. The grim expressions they all wore weren't encouraging and Ezra left Patrick to move closer to the group gathering around the bed.

They were all here now, except Chris, and they all had something to ask Nathan. Wanting to know Nathan's thoughts but finding it too unnerving to actually see himself lying on the bed, Ezra positioned himself behind Buck so the taller man blocked his view. No need to hover, Patrick had said. Ezra was sure that was an easy enough attitude for one to adopt when one was already dead, but morbid curiosity was getting the best of him. He wanted to know what Nathan was thinking.

Even as he stood there trying to hear all that was being said, Ezra couldn't help but think there was a good deal of sense in his father's reasoning. Part of him had already accepted he wasn't going back to the living. Since he'd already passed through the veil, was there any way he could cross through it again? The most logical answer was he was all but dead now, and there was no way he could recover. Ezra was trying to make peace with that, but it would be easier to do if he wasn't aware of the other side. He was sure it was the connection to the world of the living that was keeping him from fully accepting his fate.

"How did you get here?"

Ezra turned when he heard his father voice the question. Funny, Patrick's voice was a lot clearer than anyone else's. The voices of the others were muted as though Ezra was hearing them through a wall. He hadn't noticed that before when it had only been Chris and Nathan in the clinic. "Here?" he asked.

"Here: the town, the job, these men."

"Oh." Ezra glanced over his shoulder at the men standing around him before returning to his father. "I suppose drifting would be the simplest answer. After the war, the territories held the promise of allowing one to forget. I decided it would do no harm to see if it really worked. I was in the saloon one afternoon when Mister Larabee approached me with an offer to assist him and the others in protecting an Indian village from a band of Confederate renegades."

"And you went?"

"Yes." Ezra didn't see the need in telling his father about the hustle he'd been running at the time or the fact he'd only taken Chris up on the offer because he needed to get out of town fast and, as a general rule, there was safety in numbers.

"Once the task was complete, I'd planned to move along but trouble here detained us all. When we'd dispatched that issue, the judge offered us employment for thirty days to alleviate any more threats that might come along." Again, there was no reason to go into all the messy details about the Judge's overreaction to that minor bail jumping indiscretion or his subsequent arrest. The fact that thirty days of employment came with a pardon was also unimportant. Patrick didn't need to know every detail of his life.

"You've been here much longer than thirty days."

"At the end of the first thirty days, the judge repeated his offer. Then he did it again and again. Eventually, the offers stopped and the arrangement became understood."

Ezra couldn't say exactly when the formal offers had ceased. He wasn't sure when they'd stopped discussing among themselves all the other things they needed to get to and whether or not the job was worth staying for. One day it all simply stopped and no one ever mentioned it now.

"They all seem to be good men."

Ezra eyed the men surrounding his inert self and couldn't help but feel gratitude and even a little bit of pride for what he'd unwittingly fallen into. "Indeed they are."

"I'm happy for you, son."

Ezra crossed his arms and smiled slightly before shifting his gaze to the far corner of the room. He knew the words were sincere and he appreciated the sentiment, although once again he felt unworthy of the obvious pride in his father's voice. He was spared having to think of any reply by the door of the clinic creaking open. The sound usually wasn't noticeable, but it was near deafening tonight and every head, including Patrick and Ezra's, looked that way, finding Chris and Inez standing just inside the doorway.

Neither Chris nor Inez spoke as they entered the room, and despite the others stepping aside to make room for the newcomers, Inez stopped short of actually joining them and Chris remained behind her. Ezra watched them with a mixture of curiosity and dread. There was nothing so unusual about Chris keeping quiet, but seeing a dour Inez made him ill at ease. Once again he found himself wishing he didn't have this connection to the outside world. Wishing didn't make it so, however, and Ezra tried to follow his father's advice and not dwell on it. If death came for him, it came.

"Who's the young lady?" Patrick asked quietly.

Grateful for the distraction, Ezra once more focused on the man at his side. "Senorita Rocios. She works in the local tavern."

"She's a friend as well?"

"Yes."

Inez never spoke to anyone and had eyes only for Ezra. At length, she covered her head with her shawl and crossed herself before her lips begin to move in silent prayer.

Once the prayer started, Patrick cut his eyes over to his son. "She seems to have a great concern for you."

"She's Mexican. The season is a little different, but it holds significance to her people as well. She understands tonight isn't for the living. "

"That's not the first prayer she's said for you tonight," Patrick informed Ezra with a smirk.

"It's nothing more than she would do for any of the others," Ezra replied wondering about the gleam that had come into his father's eye.

"Yes, I'm sure she would."

"Just what are you suggesting?" Ezra asked hearing the sarcasm in his father's voice.

"I'm not suggesting anything. I'm merely saying that if I were to see the young lady on the street and notice that kind of grief in her eyes, I would think it was for someone who was more than a friend."

It took a moment for Ezra to realize just what his father was implying, and once he did, he had to wonder if he was right. The notion was quickly dismissed as nothing. He and Inez were friends, good friends, but nothing more. He never liked to presume anything where a lady was concerned, and it had taken him months to feel as though he had the right to claim her as anything more than an acquaintance. The night he felt he'd been gifted the title of friend was one he well remembered.

The two of them had been alone in the saloon that night. More accurately they were alone with two rather belligerent drunks whom Inez, capable as she was, was unable to remove from the bar. As soon as Ezra realized the trouble she was having he physically escorted the two saddle tramps out the door while sharing more than a few words about closing time and how a lady should be treated. After they were gone, she quietly thanked him and began to clean up, all the while venting her many frustrations about the day in her native tongue. Ezra poured himself a drink and listened in amusement for a minute or two before commenting on some of the more unladylike words she was using. As soon as he spoke Inez froze, she then turned to look at him, her expression one of shock and a small amount of horror.

"Si, entiendo Espanol," he remarked casually taking a sip of the bourbon in his hand.

She continued to stare in dumbfounded silence a moment before a smile slowly appeared. "I shall have to be more careful with what I say around you."

"Not at all. You have my word no one shall hear about any of it from me. Feel free to say anything you wish."

"It is nothing," she said going about her work.

"Very well, but I'll have you know that despite what some may think, I'm a very good listener."

She stopped and looked his way.

"Even a lady should be able to complain now and then."

She'd then given him a dazzling smile and continued talking, mostly in English, about the events of the day and how stupidly some men could behave, and Ezra listened. From that night on, it became a common occurrence for him to help her straighten the barroom after hours and many conversations were had during those times.

Most anything could and likely would be discussed during those hours and most of their talks were of no great significance. One such topic was the Day of the Dead. Inez explained the meaning of the holiday to him as well as some of the customs of the village she'd grown up in. Afterward, Ezra told her of the Halloweens he had known as a boy. While the season was similar in many ways, the Celts held slightly darker beliefs for the days and Inez listened in fascination as Ezra spoke of the veil thinning and the souls of the dead slipping through along with fairies and goblins, and the mischievous, sometimes vengeful, acts they might carry out.

At the time, he hadn't considered she'd take too much of what he said seriously and he casually dismissed her questions about his personal beliefs regarding the night when she asked about them. "I have fond memories of those parties," he'd told her. "But I've never tried to avoid the in-between places."

He always found the notion that he could slip through the veil a little silly, even as a child. Yet here he was, with his deceased father, not dead himself, but not a part of the living world either. Maybe he should start taking the old stories and the woman's prayers more seriously.

The briefest of smiles crossed Ezra's face as he watched Inez praying for him. That she had some special reason for coming here tonight was a nice thought, but not a very realistic one. Inez would have come for any of them. "I'm afraid you're imagining things," he told his father.

"Uh-huh."

Ezra chose to ignore that. Inez was lovely, charming, kind, and independent; she could easily have any man she wanted. Why would she pick him? An accidental thirty-dollar-a-month peacekeeper with a checkered past, questionable reputation, and no real assets to his name. Besides, even if, and that was a big if, his father was correct, there was nothing he could do about it now. As he could very well be dead soon, he saw no need to dwell on the possibility, slim as it was, that Inez did see him as anything but a friend.

"She knows."

Ezra felt a cold shock run through his body. "Pardon?" That wasn't possible. He was a master at hiding his feelings, and he was always been so careful not to say or do anything that would tell Inez of his attraction to her.

Patrick inclined his head in Inez's direction. "She knows something is different. I suspect she knows more than even your Mister Larabee over there."

Ezra almost sighed with relief when he realized Patrick was referring to his own presence and not any feelings Ezra might have. "As I said, she comes from spiritual people."

Patrick retreated a few steps before he smiled at Ezra. "I believe I'm making her uncomfortable. You can extend my apologies next time you talk to her. The condition is one I have no control over."

"You sound certain I will be talking to her again."

Patrick shrugged. "If things work out the right way you will."

"By the right way you mean my going back?"

"Uh-huh."

"That would be the right way?"

"To my way of thinking, yes." A beat or two passed before Patrick turned to Ezra. "You disagree?"

There was an edge in his father's voice that caused Ezra to drop his eyes. "I confess I can see the benefit in not returning," he said softly.

"What are you saying?"

"Merely that there would be a marked advantage to not rejoining the living."

Ezra knew his father wouldn't be happy with the thought but he wasn't prepared for the look of absolute devastation that came to his father's face. "You wanna die? Now?"

"I wouldn't say that's exactly accurate. I wouldn't have chosen this moment but as it seems it could be in the cards I can . . . ."

"See the benefit in not returning," Patrick snapped. "I heard you the first time."

His father moved closer to the bed and glared at the still form lying on it as though he could will life into the body. Ezra stood behind him wishing he'd explained himself clearer. No, he hadn't wished for death. He hadn't been in a place that dark since shortly after the war ended. He couldn't even say he was looking forward to it. However, since being here, Ezra couldn't help but wonder if death would be such a terrible thing. If what his father said was true, there were positives. No more pain, failures, or disappointment, and the chance to stay with his father. Ezra could think of far worse things.

"What about your mama?" Patrick's voice was so sharp and unexpected Ezra nearly jumped at the sound.

"Mother?"

"What do you think she'd do if you were to die now?"

Truthfully, Ezra didn't know how to respond to that. He'd been so absorbed with what was going on and seeing his father again that he hadn't given much thought to his mother. "She's become quite adept at getting along on her own," he said as he sought out another distant corner to focus on.

"That's about the shoddiest excuse I've ever heard, boy." Even before Ezra forced himself to look Patrick in the eye, he knew he'd find disappointment in those green pools. All the anger had faded from Patrick's voice and sadness had taken its place.

"Perhaps it would seem less shoddy if you'd been able to see her in the recent past." Ezra did feel a pang of guilt knowing he'd disappointed his father, but he refused to let it show. "She is perhaps the single most self-sufficient woman I've ever known." It was a true statement, and despite the hell he'd gone through as he was growing up, Ezra couldn't help but feel some pride at how capable his mother was. Maude truly was remarkable.

"She's a woman who only has one son, and you'd willingly leave her?"

A sharp retort about how often she'd willingly left him was on the tip of Ezra's tongue but he didn't let it escape. Instead, he reined in his temper and tried a calmer approach. "She doesn't need me to get by."

"Need has nothin' to do with it," Patrick replied sharply. "You're her son, Ezra. She loses you and she loses a piece of herself. It'll leave a hole in her that'll never be filled."

Ezra scoffed and realized his mistake almost instantly. His father's eyes flashed and for a second Ezra found himself wondering how physical things could get in the spiritual world. Almost as soon as the fire appeared, however, it burned out leaving stark hurt in its place. "She's your mother, and you don't know her any better than that?"

Ezra wasn't as successful at hiding his guilt this time. But whose fault was it if he didn't know her any better? She'd left him. "With all due respect, sir, you haven't been here in over twenty years. I'm afraid there are things you don't understand."

"Sadly, you're right. But don't think this is the first I've seen of the outside world since my death. I've had glimpses before now and I can tell you with absolute confidence there are things you don't understand as well. And if you doubt that then allow me to tell you of something I saw firsthand. You weren't our first, Ezra. There was another one, one your mama lost before hardly anyone knew she was in a family way, and it almost broke her. If losing a baby she never even saw could hurt her like that, what do you think losing the child she's had nearly thirty years would do to her?

"She does need you, Ezra. She needs you more than you will ever understand. I don't know the whole story, son. I wish I did if only to help you understand, but I know enough. I know enough to tell you that you are probably the only reason your mama is still in the land of the living herself. You have to fight this, Ezra."

"Why?" he demanded. "Would it be so terrible to stay here? With you?"

"No. No, it wouldn't be terrible at all for us." He nodded to those who were still in the clinic. "But it hurts them. It'll hurt your mama. The young senorita."

Ezra looked up at the last statement and caught his father's smirk. "Daddy . . . ."

"Merely the casual observation of an outsider, Ez; do whatever you choose to with it." Patrick turned serious again. "But it's something to consider while you're trying to dig up a will to live."

"You don't want me here?"

"Yes. One day. But we'll have forever, once your life is over, and you haven't had a long enough of one yet. You haven't even got what I had yet. Don't give up."

"I thought it wasn't my decision."

"It's not, but that doesn't mean that the will to live, to fight, isn't important. You got a lot here that's worth a fight. You got friends here; the chance to have a good life. And that's just the thing, son; I don't want you alive, I want you to live."

The bed and the group huddled around it was once again the center of Ezra's world. He studied the six men around him, and Inez, and thought about his father's words. He could see the point Patrick was making, but then again, staying here would be so easy.

As he stood debating all the pros and cons with himself, two strong hands gripped his shoulders and squeezed. A second later he heard Patrick's voice in his ear. "Please, Ezra. I'm asking you, begging you; keep fighting."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The air inside the clinic was heavy. It was too close and too stuffy for Chris to even take a decent breath. Before long he started to feel as though the collar of his shirt was tightening around his neck. He reached up and tugged at the fabric half expecting to find the material had shrunk. As crazy as things seemed to be Chris wouldn't have been too surprised if that was the case. The fabric hadn't physically changed in any way, however, and Chris was somewhat relieved that the noose-like feel of his collar was all in his head. Knowing his discomfort was all mental didn't make the room any less claustrophobic though and he needed some air. Knowing the others wouldn't begrudge him a few minutes outside, Chris quietly backed away from the others and slipped out the door.

Stepping out onto the porch, Chris took in a lungful of the night air, his breath forming a small cloud as he exhaled. The temperature had been dropping since sundown and it was now significantly cooler than it had been when he left the saloon earlier this evening. Unusually cold really, but Chris didn't mind. After the stuffiness of the clinic, the cool air was a welcome change.

Going over to the railing, Chris braced his hands against it and peered down into the empty street below. He wished he could put a name with the feeling he had. Something about being inside was oppressive. He liked to think it was just because there were so many people in one room, but he was no longer sure of that. They'd all been in the clinic many times in the past and Chris had never felt anything like this. As much as the practical side of him wanted to believe there was nothing special about tonight, it was getting harder and harder to convince himself of that. Especially after what Inez had told him. He wasn't yet willing to say there was something spiritual going on, but he couldn't deny he was feeling something more than regular concern although he had plenty of reason to be concerned.

The simple truth was, Ezra looked bad. He'd looked bad before, but Chris couldn't remember ever seeing the man as pale and drawn as he now was. There'd been a sickly pallor on his face before but it was even worse now. Was death in that room now just waiting for the time he could grab Ezra? Did it even work that way? It didn't matter how it worked. What did matter was that Ezra appeared to be fading in front of their eyes and there wasn't anything they could do to stop it.

The door behind him opened and Chris glanced back to find Inez coming out of the clinic. For a second he feared the worst then it occurred to him it was unlikely anyone would have sent Inez to come and get him if something was happening. For a moment she stood frozen in place like she wasn't sure what to do next, then she looked his way and walked over.

"Any change?" he asked when she stopped beside him.

She slightly shook her head before looking up at him, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. "He is not doing well."

"Doesn't look like it," Chris mumbled wishing he could offer something more than that. He'd never considered himself good with words, and he didn't have much talent for crying women either. He was a man of action; he needed to feel like he was doing something. In this case, there was nothing he could do. Nothing but storming back into the clinic, grabbing Ezra up, and reminding him he wasn't allowed to run out on them, any of them. He didn't think Nathan would appreciate that and it wouldn't do any good anyway.

Inez shivered and wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders. "Senor Chris, do you think there is any hope?"

"He's not dead yet."

A single silent tear rolled down her cheek but she gave him a weak smile before she turned back to the clinic and stared at the door separating them from Ezra. Again Chris got the impression she unsure about what to do.

It was odd seeing Inez look that way. If Inez was anything, it was confident. Chris had seen her handle many a drunken cowboy, shiftless miner, and two-bit drifter with her quick mind and sharp tongue. Even when that pompous ass of a don had been stirring up trouble she'd been at the very least composed, ready to face whatever lay ahead. Funny he didn't recall seeing her shed any tears over that incident and yet he'd already seen her cry over Ezra twice tonight.

Without warning, Inez squared her shoulders and wiped the dampness from her face. When she turned to him that proud tilt had returned to her chin and she looked more like the woman Chris was used to seeing. "I'm going to the church, Senor. If anything should happen . . . ."

Chris nodded. "Someone'll tell you."

"Gracias."

She left then, her stride purposeful. Her footsteps faded as she went down the steps and mere seconds later, she reappeared on the street below, walking swiftly in the direction of the church. Chris smiled grimly as he watched her disappear into the night. Death was going to have a fight on his hands if Inez Rocios had anything to say about it.

He was about to go back in when he heard the clinic door open yet again. This time it was Vin that came out and the half-smile he gave Chris was enough to let the blond know that, for the moment, Ezra was still among the living.

"I needed some air," Vin offered as he crossed his arms and leaned his backside along the railing.

Chris turned and took a similar stance. "I understand that."

"Inez leave?"

"Yeah. Said she was goin' to the church."

"Maybe that's not a bad idea."

"Not for her. Lighting might hit if any of us were to go in there."

Vin grinned. "Ain't none of us started any fires yet."

"Ain't none of us ever been in there to talk to the good Lord either. At least I ain't."

Vin smirked but didn't reply. Neither spoke for a minute and finally, Vin sighed. "What do you think, cowboy?"

"Bout Ezra?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know. It's not the first time he's been in a bad way but . . . ."

"How long can he stay lucky?"

"Yeah."

"Chris, do you get the feelin' somethin's gonna happen tonight?"

Chris's head snapped around to look at the younger man. "Somethin' like what?" he asked cautiously.

"I ain't sure exactly; just a feelin' I got. You ever heard of All Hallows Eve?"

Chris's eyes narrowed. "What do you know about it?"

Vin shrugged. "Not much. Josiah was sayin' somethin' bout it earlier. It and Dio de los Muertos. Said tonight was for the dead."

"Yeah, Inez mentioned it earlier. She seemed to be pretty serious about it."

"You think there's anything to it?"

Chris didn't answer right away. He wasn't sure what he believed anymore. The whole thing sounded too far-fetched to be real but he wasn't the only one that had an ominous feeling about tonight, and then there were the times he'd felt like someone was watching him. Chris finally found himself saying words he never imagined would come out of his mouth. "I don't know. It's crazy but you said yourself something feels wrong. Do you?"

Vin shrugged again. "I ain't never felt like this before, Chris. That's all I know. And Josiah said belief was a powerful thing."

"Yeah," was all Chris said. He still wasn't willing to attribute his bizarre feelings to anything otherworldly.

Another minute or two of silence passed before Vin pushed away from the rail. "I guess we should be gettin' back."

"I'll be in in a minute."

Vin nodded and started back inside.

Once Vin was gone, Chris turned around and grimly stared up into the inky darkness. He'd never considered himself a religious man, but he wouldn't call himself unreligious either. Back in Indiana, he'd spent his fair share of Sundays sitting on a hard church pew and he knew enough about the Bible to know that at some time or another he'd completely disregarded most of those commandments. Maybe he hadn't kept to the straight and narrow in the way his mother would have liked, but he'd never looked down on anybody for trying to live by the good book.

Chris supposed if it came right down to it, he'd say, yes, there was some kind of higher power out there. He'd talked to Him enough after Sarah and Adam had been killed. He'd yelled and cussed more than talked and it was all pretty one-sided, but Chris couldn't deny there was some part of him that acknowledged a deity. He'd always figured God wasn't too interested in him though. Why would He be?

"You can't have him," he ground out. It wasn't exactly a prayer but it was as close to one as had left his lips in years. Maybe he was out here just talking to himself. If he was, what would it hurt? If he wasn't . . . well, Chris figured if there was a chance someone would listen talking wouldn't hurt either.

If Ezra didn't make it through this, they'd deal with it, but Chris didn't want to have to deal with it. Over the last couple of years, this motley crew had become his family. Contrary and difficult as Ezra could be at times, intentionally Chris suspected, he was part of that family, a significant part. Chris wasn't ready to lose any more family.

All too familiar anger began to burn in his gut. Ezra had to live. Chris wouldn't let him die. He slammed his hands down on the rail. "Dammit, you can't have him. Not yet."

The anger died almost as quickly as it had come leaving Chris feeling deflated. Blowing out a breath, Chris straightened and turned to go inside. Whether his words could actually be counted as a prayer or not, Chris didn't know. Some would probably call it blasphemy but Chris had said worse. He just hoped that if someone or something heard him, it would make a difference.

XXXXXXX

Keep fighting. His father's plea bounced around Ezra's head in such a way that he was unable to ignore it, as much as he wanted to.

"I'm tired of fighting." The words escaped before Ezra even knew he was thinking them but as soon as they were spoken Ezra realized how true they were. Every day since the day he'd lost his father had been a fight for him. He thought back to the less enjoyable times of his childhood. The times when his days were spent keeping his head down, doing his best to avoid angering the wrong people and trying to prove he was worth something. Even during the good times, Ezra had fought. The fight during those times was one for acceptance, to feel like he belonged. He also had to fight off the anxiety that came from knowing whatever happiness he found could easily disappear overnight. Then there was the war.

Ezra had fought in more ways than one during the war and by the end, he'd lost everything. During those four years, the only real home he'd ever known had been ripped away from him. He'd lost family and comrades in arms. By the time surrender came he was little more than a shell of his former self. Coming west had helped, but even out here the fight continued. He still too often found himself fighting to belong, and keeping up the appearance of always being calm and in control was a never-ending struggle. The fight took its toll, and most days Ezra wanted to throw it all in and tell everyone he wasn't nearly as self-assured and indifferent as he appeared.

"I understand," Patrick said softly.

"Do you?" Ezra asked bitterly.

"Yes." Patrick didn't elaborate further but he moved around to stand beside his son, his right arm going around Ezra's shoulders. He inclined his head towards the group just a few feet from them. "Can you hear them, son?"

Ezra focused his attention on the others and noticed that just like before, their voices were muted. "Faintly."

"Has it always been like that?"

"No."

"You're giving up," Patrick stated a hint of reproach in his voice. "You really don't want to go back, do you?"

Ezra didn't reply. He didn't know of anything he could say that would make his father see his point.

Patrick pulled him around so Ezra had little choice but to meet his father's eyes. "Why, Ezra? Why are you so willing to give up your life now?"

Ezra dropped his eyes unable to hold his father's intense stare. "It's peaceful here," he said at length. Surely Patrick could understand the desire for a little peace.

"Yes, but the privilege of growing old is one that's denied to many. Why are you so willing to toss your chance aside?"

Ezra lifted his gaze. "Then I do have a choice."

"The will to fight, to live, is very important. The determination to continue living has pushed many a man through illness and injury. It's also possible to simply give up, to stop caring until a man just wastes away. You must have seen some of both during the war."

Ezra nodded mutely. Sergeant Williams came to mind. Williams lost a leg outside of Atlanta in the summer of '64. His wounds were serious enough that the doctor hadn't expected him to make it through the night. Only he had. Then they expected infection to set in and it did; the man managed to survive that too. From the time Williams was wounded until the time he was able to be transported away from the field hospital, Ezra never once recalled the man getting down. He just kept telling everyone he had to get better so he could get back to his Nellie and their baby John. As far as Ezra knew, he'd done just that.

At the time Ezra remembered thinking there wasn't any way he could have dealt with losing a leg in such a positive way, he still didn't think he'd be able to.

"Why am I here?" He was torn between his very selfish desire to remain here or to keep fighting and rejoin the land of the living. He'd had serious injuries before and never entered into this twilight world. If he did possibly have a say in this, why was he here in the first place?

"I don't know. I don't think it's your time yet because if it was I think you'd already be dead. Perhaps you're here so your eyes can be opened."

"Opened to what?" Ezra didn't understand any of this, and it wasn't getting any clearer.

"To how much you have that is worth fighting for."

Ezra scoffed. "You really believe that don't you?"

Patrick smiled. "Yes, I do."

Ezra went back to watching himself as he chewed on his father's words. Perhaps Patrick was right. Staying here would be peaceful, easy, but maybe it wasn't time for that yet. He noticed the others were beginning to scatter out around the room, each one finding a new spot to continue his vigil from. He wondered if that was an indication of anything. "So let's say, hypothetically, that I agree with you. When would I return? Or not return?"

"I don't know that either. This is just as unknown to me as it is to you. Hypothetically, do you agree with me?"

"I'm not sure."

"It seems to me you're awfully important to a lot of people."

"Perhaps."

"I told you, Ez, I want you to live; thrive. I can't imagine you'll find a better place to do that than here. And remember your mother. You mean more to her then you will ever know."

"I suppose."

"There's no supposing about it. And don't worry about me, boy. I'll still be here when your time really comes."

Ezra faced his father again. "Suppose this discussion is all moot and this is indeed my time?"

"Then I'm thrilled to see you again, and we'll wait for your mama together, but you better not think about just lying down and givin' up on me. Please, Ezra."

The bed was once again the center of Ezra's attention and he tried to make sense out of everything his father had said. He wasn't entirely sure Patrick was right about everything, but Ezra couldn't deny there were at least a few people who would miss him if he didn't return to the land of the living. And he'd never planned on being dead before he was thirty. Perhaps it would be worth it to fight a little longer. He sighed and faced Patrick. "I suppose it might be interesting to see what is in store for me down the road."

"More than interesting I'd say," Patrick replied with a grin.

Ezra returned the smile. "So we're back to waiting, are we?"

"So it seems."

"What if . . . ." Before Ezra could finish his thought pain unexpectedly exploded across his chest. Crying out Ezra grabbed at his wound. The feeling was so sharp and intense that he fully expected to see another bullet embedded in his flesh, but when he looked down he was taken aback by the absence of blood on his chest.

The pain hit him again although it wasn't as sharp or unexpected this time and he was able to stifle another cry. "What's happening?" he panted looking to his father for the answer.

"I think a decision has been made," Patrick replied a look of satisfaction on his face.

"Decision?" Ezra wondered if that was a decision for him to live or die.

"It's time for you to go, son."

Ezra looked to the bed. Nathan and Chris were the only ones around now, and once again Nathan appeared to be busy. "I'm not ready," he protested. Maybe he was no longer willing to run to meet his end, but he wasn't ready to leave this place. There was still so much he wanted to say to the man in front of him.

"You never are, but that's something that's also out of our hands."

"But . . . ."

Patrick closed the distance between them and wrapped his son in an embrace. "I love you, Ez. Know that. I always have, I always will."

Ezra could only nod as his mind tried to make sense of what was going on. This was happening too fast and he was having trouble thinking clearly.

"You're my son," Patrick continued. "And I'm proud of you."

Again Ezra nodded wincing when he felt the wound in his chest twinge once more.

Patrick didn't release Ezra but he stepped back enough so he could see his son's eyes. "Take care of your mama if she'll let you and remember what I said about that girl."

"Inez?" Ezra asked still baffled and unsure of his father's opinion on that matter.

Patrick grinned. "Go live for me, Ez."

Another pain hit and Ezra was unable to hold back a yell as darkness closed in around him.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Patrick Standish stood off to the side of the room, intently watching his son. He'd be waking soon. At least, Patrick hoped he would. He assumed when Ezra was ripped away from him his request that his son live was being granted but so far, Ezra hadn't given any sign he was rejoining the land of the living. Patrick didn't know the exact time but dawn was quickly coming. Soon the veil would thicken and cut off his window to the other side. He wanted, needed, to see his son open his eyes before that happened.

Forcing himself to look away from Ezra, Patrick gazed around the room at the other men, men with obvious concern for his son. They'd finally stopped hovering over Ezra some time ago and a couple even looked as though they were nodding off. Patrick got the impression none of them would leave until Ezra's outcome was known once and for all. For that Patrick was grateful. It was good to know Ezra had people in his life he could count on; he deserved it.

Ezra wasn't the only one who'd been less than honest tonight. The truth was, Patrick knew far more about Ezra, Maude, and their lives over the past twenty-odd years than he'd let Ezra believe. He'd told Ezra he'd received glimpses into the living world, but he hadn't told how often it happened. Every time the veil thinned, Patrick looked in on them. There was plenty he hadn't seen, but he'd seen enough.

He understood why Ezra was hesitant to share things with him tonight. It wasn't just Maude or certain parts of his childhood Ezra was hiding. The war and the following years had taken a terrible toll on Ezra. Patrick suspected his son had needed some kind of anchor for a long time. Judging by the men scattered around the room, he thought Ezra might have finally found that.

Wondering if Ezra could still feel him or at least sense his presence, Patrick went over to where his son lay and sat on the edge of the bed. "I didn't realize I'd have more time with you. Maybe I don't. Maybe you can't hear me anymore, but since we're both here it's worth a try." Patrick smirked. "And you can't protest or interrupt now, Boyo, so listen to me. You've got a good thing here. I know it was rough for a while, too long, but I think you've got yourself a home here if you want it. These people care about you, Ez."

Ezra moaned softly and Patrick stopped talking. He watched Ezra closely, wondering if it was a response to being talked to or if he was about to wake up. When there was no further reaction from Ezra Patrick spoke again.

"I don't mean that as a rebuke, Ezra. I know it's hard to drop your guard, but sometimes it's worth the risk. I told you to take care of your mama if she'd let you. Well, now I'm telling you that it's alright if someone takes care of you every now and then too. There ain't no shame in it."

Patrick placed his hand on top of Ezra's. His time was short and he wanted just a little more contact with his boy. It was funny, but he still saw Ezra as his boy. It didn't matter how old he actually was, when Patrick looked at Ezra he saw a little boy. The young Mexican woman came back to mind causing Patrick to amend that thought. Ezra was his boy but maybe he wasn't so little at that.

"And don't forget about that woman. I know you don't believe it, but I'm still older than you and I've been married so, I know a thing or two. There was more than simple concern in her eyes tonight. And I never understood what your mama saw in me either."

That statement drew no reaction from Ezra.

Patrick sighed. Time was getting too short now. When was Ezra going to open his eyes? All this would mean nothing if Ezra ended up joining him on the other side.

"It may be a lot easier to bestow my wisdom on you when you can't interrupt but I need you to wake up, son. Come on, boyo. Wake up."

He needed Ezra to wake up, even if he couldn't see it, Patrick needed it to happen. He supposed it was a father's natural worry; he wanted his son to have a long happy life, not die in his prime.

Leaning over, Patrick gently kissed Ezra's forehead. "Please."

Another moan came from Ezra, this one louder than the previous one.

Patrick pulled back. "Ezra?" Ezra began to grow restless and pulled away from him. Something was different; Patrick could feel it. "That's it, Boy."

The other men started to gather around the Standish men and Patrick assumed they could tell something was changing as well. He was now certain Ezra was waking. He looked around noting that Ezra's friends were speaking but he was unable to hear them. He was losing his contact with the living but it didn't matter now. Ezra was going to live. He knew it.

"Wake up, Ezra," he said offering up one last request.

Slowly Ezra's eyes opened. His gaze met Patrick's but he seemed dazed, not quite sure where he was or what was going on. He also seemed to be oblivious to the others surrounding them.

Patrick grinned. "Morning's coming, Ez. It's time for me to go, and time for you to go enjoy your life. I'll see you later."

Ezra's eyes drifted shut and when they opened again Patrick could see the difference. Ezra was back with the living, exactly where he belonged.

His part in all this was over, but Patrick stayed by his son a little longer. The others were talking to Ezra now and even though Patrick couldn't hear everything being said he knew everything was fine. Ezra was awake and responding to the men and their questions. His boy would be back to normal soon and it was time for Patrick to leave. Standing, Patrick found himself flanked by the one Ezra called Chris and the one in the buckskin jacket. Patrick started to step around them but thought better of it. After all, as long as he was in this world he might as well have a little fun.

Squeezing between the two men, Patrick pushed the one with the buckskin jacket back a step while whispering "keep an eye on him" to the other one. Both men reacted and Patrick saw them exchange a look; they were both puzzled and, dare he say, unsettled. Grinning like a fool, Patrick slipped away, leaving the land of the living behind him. Outside, the gray light of dawn was just starting to color the eastern sky.

XXXXXXX

The rest of the night passed quietly for the six anxious men inside the clinic. Ezra didn't improve any, but his condition didn't worsen either and when it became apparent he wasn't going to meet his maker in the immediate future, some semblance of normalcy returned to the group. There was still a fair amount of tension in the room but everyone relaxed enough that they stopped hovering over Ezra. Nathan stuck close, but the others soon fanned out to different spots in the room, finding seats on anything that happened to be available, with Vin even taking up residence on the floor.

As the night dragged on, sleep began claiming the others. JD was the first, using Buck's shoulder as a pillow, and Josiah's snores quickly followed. Minutes later, Buck sighed and closed his eyes as well. Chris looked over to his left where Vin sat. The younger man had pulled his hat down over his eyes but judging from his steady even breaths, Chris guessed he was sleeping too. Chris then glanced over to Nathan. The healer was slouched down in his chair but his eyes were still glued on Ezra.

As quietly as he could, Chris rose from his seat and went over to the bed. "How's he doin'?"

"I really ain't sure. His fever's dropped some but he still ain't showin' no sign of wakin'." Nathan stood and stretched. "I just can't figure it, Chris. I've never seen anything like this."

"You think he's getting better?"

"Well, the fever dropping seems to be good but it's not uncommon for people to rally before the end."

Chris smiled wanly and nodded. He had kept a close watch on Nathan all night, knowing that would be his best indicator of how Ezra was doing. Earlier, Nathan had clearly been poised for the worst; now he appeared to be cautiously optimistic. It was obvious Nathan was surprised by Ezra's apparent stableness but he was also leery of the situation. Chris understood; just because Ezra wasn't declining at the moment didn't mean he was coming back. Once again Chris couldn't help but think if they could just make it through the night, Ezra would be fine.

He looked over at the window where nothing but darkness was visible and grimaced. What was it about this night? "If he makes it through the night, what do you think his chances are?"

Nathan opened his mouth and quickly shut it and seemed to think about the question. After a minute he shrugged. "Can't really say. If that fever keeps going down it'll help a lot, but I'm still not sure why he ain't woke up. Fevers do seem to get worse at night for some reason."

Chris nodded. "I remember Adam's always did." His eyes went back to Ezra. "He sure makes things hard sometimes, don't he?"

Nathan couldn't stop a smile. "That he does. And sometimes I don't think he even means to." Sitting back down, Nathan stretched his legs out in front of him. "Why don't you try to get some sleep too, Chris? As I've said before, us staying right by him every minute ain't gonna change what's gonna happen."

"Yeah," Chris muttered making no move to leave.

"Have you slept at all since Ezra was shot?"

"Probably as much as you have," Chris countered as he leaned up against the wall.

Nathan smiled. "I can't argue with that."

Chris's semi-relaxed state vanished when he felt that presence again; if he didn't know any better he'd swear there was someone else in the room. He straightened from his slouched position as his eyes darted around the room making sure everyone was accounted for. Just as he suspected, there was no one but the seven of them there and everyone was exactly where they'd been just minutes ago.

"Somethin' wrong?" Nathan asked giving Chris a strange look.

"No," Chris replied leaning back against the wall and cursing the jittery nerves brought on by some cultural holidays he'd barely known about until tonight.

"Seriously, Chris, why don't you try to get some sleep?"

"Maybe in a little bit." Tired as he was, Chris expected to have trouble finding sleep. It wasn't just his uneasiness either. Rest didn't come easy when something was amiss with his men, even though he told himself there was no reason for that. True, he'd naturally fallen into the position of leader, but they were all grown men more than capable of taking care of themselves. But they were his family now too. Even if he wasn't anyone's keeper, that didn't mean he couldn't prefer for things to be calm and for everyone to be safe. Any normal person would want that.

Pulling out his watch, Chris checked the time and looked back out of the window. Daylight wasn't far off now. He couldn't explain it to anyone, he wouldn't even try, but his gut told him if Ezra could hang on a little longer, things would be fine. They just had to make it until dawn.

A moan broke through the silence signaling Ezra was again growing restless. Chris straightened and Nathan moved up to the edge of his chair.

"Ezra?" Nathan said. "Can you hear me?"

Ezra stirred and for the first time since he'd been shot he seemed to be responding to someone.

"Nathan?" Chris asked.

Nathan shook his head and spoke to Ezra again. "Ezra?" He placed a hand on Ezra's shoulder and shook him gently. "Ezra, wake up."

One by one the others woke up and joined them around the bed as Nathan continued to coax Ezra awake. He was eventually rewarded with another groan and finally, ever so slowly, Ezra opened his eyes. A collective sigh passed through the group but their relief was short-lived. A quick look at the gambler would tell anyone something wasn't right. Ezra's eyes were open but he wasn't seeing them. He merely stared, almost blindly, straight ahead. Nathan continued to talk to him and Josiah added a few words of encouragement as well but Ezra gave no indication he heard anything being said.

After a minute Chris started to get nervous. Was it possible there was something Nathan had missed before? Some kind of head injury? The possibility Nathan let something serious slip by him was just as hard for Chris to believe now as it had been earlier but he didn't know what else to think. Had Ezra lived just to be in this state? Ezra wouldn't want that.

"Come on, Ez," Buck finally said. "You're wearing Nathan out and worrying the life out of the rest of us."

Another moan came from Ezra right before his eyes slid shut.

"What's goin' on, Nathan?" Vin asked.

"I ain't sure. Ezra?"

"Wake up, Standish," Chris snapped. Maybe they were all being too sweet. Maybe Ezra just needed something to get his attention, something normal. "Ezra," he ground out. Josiah gave him an odd look but judging by the smile Nathan was biting back he understood what Chris was thinking. Chris wasn't sure if his reasoning made sense, but it couldn't hurt.

Just when Chris was ready to give Ezra a good shake, his eyes came back open, only this time, they looked like Ezra's. They belonged to an exhausted Ezra, but they were Ezra's and when Nathan called his name, Ezra slowly looked his way.

"Welcome back," the healer said with a grin. "Are you with me?"

Ezra blinked and tried to reply but his voice was little more than a rasp. His second attempt yielded the same result and Nathan put a hand on his arm.

"Take it easy now, you just woke up. Vin, hand me some water."

Vin filled a cup from the pitcher sitting beside the bed and passed it over. Nathan slid an arm under Ezra and raised his head enough to allow the man to drink. "Better?" he asked once Ezra had taken a few sips.

"Yes," Ezra replied weakly, his voice cracking from disuse. "How . . . ."

"Long have you been here? Two days."

"You remember the robbery?" Chris asked.

Ezra seemed to think about that then nodded. Another sigh ran through the group only this one seemed to blow away all the remaining tension in the room.

"Good," Nathan said. "Now you just take it easy for a minute." He was grinning as he lowered Ezra's head back onto the pillow but when he looked at the others he was all business. "Alright, Josiah can stay but everybody else, get out." A chorus of protests came from the men around him but Nathan stood his ground. "He ain't going nowhere for a while, believe me. I want to look him over and I don't need an audience. Josiah's stayin' just in case I need any help."

"Well, I guess we just got told off boys," Chris said.

"I guess we did," Vin replied. "Watch him will you, Josiah. We don't want him noddin' off when he's supposed to be taking care of Ezra."

"I'll keep one eye on each of them," Josiah promised.

Feeling better than he'd felt in days, Chris turned to go. Before he took two steps, however, he felt something brush up against him and the words "keep an eye on him" were very clearly whispered in his ear. He froze and fought the impulse to look around; he knew he wouldn't see anything. He was ready to pass the incident off as either insanity or sleep deprivation until he saw Vin. The Texan was also wearing a puzzled expression. Chris didn't take the time to dwell on it as he hurried outside.

Once outside the stress of the last two days fully fell away from the four peacekeepers not in the clinic. Buck and JD were soon back to acting like Buck and JD and Chris noticed he could finally take a decent breath. He was ready to forget all about his odd feelings of the last several hours when Vin touched his arm. "Hey, Cowboy?"

Chris stopped. "Yeah."

Vin seemed unsure of himself and glanced around as though to make sure no was listening before he said anything else. "Inside just now, before we left. Did you . . . ." Vin trailed off.

"Did I what?" Chris asked his eyes narrowing.

"Did you . . . did you feel like maybe . . . somebody ran into you?"

Chris thought back to all the times he'd felt like someone was right there beside him, the voice he knew he heard, and tales of veils thinning and spirits crossing over. Suddenly, he didn't want answers. "You know, Vin, I really don't wanna talk about it."

Vin nodded almost looking relieved. "Guess we need to tell Inez the good news," Vin suggested once they were back down on the street with Buck and JD.

"Looks like she's gonna meet us," Buck said nodding in the direction of the church.

They looked to find Inez coming their way. Her brow was furrowed but the tension on her face started to fade as she approached them and saw the smiles they were wearing. "Senor Standish?"

"He's awake," Chris told her.

"Looks like he's gonna be just fine too," Buck added.

Closing her eyes she muttered a prayer before a smile lit up her face. "This is good. Are you hungry? Come; I'll make breakfast for you. I can make something for Senor Standish too if he is able to have it." She grabbed JD's arm and marched him off in the direction of the saloon, Buck on her heels insisting she'd grabbed hold of the wrong man.

"Was that an invitation or an order?" Vin asked when Buck's protests died out.

"I'm not sure," Chris admitted. "But I still don't think we ought to try her."

Vin broke into a grin and hurried after the others.

Chris took a deep breath of clean crisp morning air and followed them. He wasn't sure what had gone on last night and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. For now, everything was as it should be, and for now, that was good enough. The darkness was gone and it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day.

The End


End file.
